


Vacationland

by scapegrace74



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapegrace74/pseuds/scapegrace74
Summary: This fic was written for the 50 States of Sex collaboration so brilliantly thought up by @viceversawrites and @softnow.  I picked Maine, since I just visited this summer.  Set during that vague timeframe that is post-Per Manum flashback, pre-Requiem.  A bit of angst, but hopefully just enough to add some depth to what is otherwise pretty much a fluffy PWP.  Rated NC-17, ‘natch.





	Vacationland

It was possible that after many years of miscommunication, frustration and upset plans, it was time for Fox Mulder and Logan Airport to call it quits and go their separate ways.

He stared at the digital terminal display, lit up with row after row of on-time departures. All except the last remaining flight to Bangor, which had been winking a smug fifty minute delay for the past three hours. Outside their gate, the New England sky was a tint of robin’s egg blue only witnessed in early September when school was back in session. He remembered it well.

He paced back to where his partner sat, poised and still, staring out the concourse window at nothing. Her hands were folded in her lap as though in prayer, and he made a mid-second correction in course.

“I don’t think our plane is ever showing up, Scully. It’s a regional carrier - maybe they only fly when it’s foggy enough.”

She didn’t react to his stand-up routine, so he took matters into his own hands and lifted the handle on her roller bag. That got her attention.

“Mulder, what the hell? This is our gate. When the plane gets here, they’re not going to wait for us.”

“The plane’s not coming, Scully. Let’s grab a rental car and drive up. Bangor’s about four hours’ away on the interstate, and four hours in a moving vehicle will feel like heaven, after an afternoon in purgatory at Logan.”

She didn’t acquiesce, but she didn’t stay staring at the blank canvas of the sky either. He considered that a win.

***

“This isn’t the interstate, Mulder.”

Scully had dozed off somewhere near the New Hampshire border, and he’d taken the next exit to the coast road. They’d been averaging thirty miles an hour through one white clapboard hamlet after another since then.

“You’re very observant, Scully. You should consider a career in law enforcement.”

“Very funny. But seriously, where are we? It’s 6pm - we should be nearly in Bangor by now.” 

Scully woke up grumpy. He had years of experience devising counter-measures; everything from grande cups of her favourite dark roast to humorous observations of local law enforcement. More recently, he’d developed a technique that included plucking her nipples like a harp and then anchoring his head between her thighs until she levitated, but he couldn’t very well do that and still drive. He handed her a blueberry fritter, still warm in its brown paper bag.

“We’re not nearly in Bangor,” he ventured after she’d inspected the treat.

“I can see that.” Her tone mellowed as she licked homemade lemon frosting from the tip of each finger.

“We’re actually closer to Wells. I decided to take the scenic route. We can grab a room here and still get to Bangor tomorrow in time for our ten o’clock interview.” 

He glanced in her direction, trying to judge how this change in plans was landing. Scully could usually be counted on to let her strict professionalism lapse when he was the only witness, but she’d gone far inside herself these past few weeks, and he couldn’t blame her. This was his first attempt to coax her back out of her shell.

“A room, Mulder? A room, singular? We’re on the clock.” She was still prickly and resistant, however, and he found it endlessly heartening. A passive Scully was no Scully at all. 

“Well, that clock had us landing in Bangor five hours ago. Right now, Agent Mulder and Agent Scully are sitting in their adjacent hotel rooms, chastely reviewing their case notes before retiring to their separate beds. You and I are grabbing a room in Wells. It’s September. Any one of these little roadside motels will have a vacancy.”

“A roadside motel? You really know how to treat a girl, Mulder.” 

He made eye contact and gave her his best attempt at a sexy grin. He might know next to nothing about how to treat girls, plural, but he was the world’s leading expert on how to treat this one.

***

The little efficiency cottage was basic, but clean. They changed out of their travelling suits and into casual clothes before walking, hand-in-hand, up the main road through town.

“What exactly are you looking for, Mulder? These places all serve lobster.”

“Spoken like a true non-Yankee, Scully. There’s lobster, and then there’s lob-stah. I’ll know it when I see it.”

The restaurant had been there so long its shingle siding had weathered to a nondescript grey. You ordered at a take-out window, then ate at a collection of ramshackle picnic tables, spread on a sloping lawn overlooking the estuary.

They sat on the same seat bench, facing the marsh that dimmed into darker and darker shadows of green as the setting sun released the day. The lobster rolls were fresh and buttery, served with coleslaw and house-made pickles, and washed down by pints of pale blond beer. It was, in his estimation, the perfect meal.

Scully’s left hand crept over and stole his last pickle. Her hair was molten copper where the last rays of light caught it. He took a deep breath of salt air, then exhaled.

***

“I would, Mulder, but I don’t have my bathing suit. The hotel in Bangor - you know, the one where Agent Scully is staying right now - doesn’t have a pool.”

“Just go in your underwear. It’s dark out, and I doubt there’ll be anyone else swimming at this hour. This place empties out after Labour Day.”

He saw her struggle with propriety, and decided to stack the deck in his favour. He stripped off his shirt and jeans. He heard the little catch in her breath as he briefly bared his naked backside before donning his swim trunks. 

In the three weeks since the last IVF attempt had ended in a whirlpool of blood and tears, they hadn’t made love. He was a psychologist, and he knew Scully was dealing with a lot of anger and ambivalence over her body’s failure to provide refuge for even one of their offspring. He doubted she’d even noticed, but she’d ceased to trim her nails, hadn’t gone to the gym, and her roots were growing in: all signs that she was denying her body loving care in the way it had denied her a child. So her reaction to his nakedness, no matter how minute, was reassuring.

“Oh, alright. But if I get arrested for public indecency, I’m taking you and those ridiculous board shorts down with me!”

***

The small fenced pool was tucked between the line of cottages and a copse of pine trees. You couldn’t see the ocean, but you could make out the dull thrum of its eternal give and take. A single flood light triggered by a motion sensor lit the shallow end, and the water itself glowed aquamarine from a series of underwater lights.

Scully was wrapped in one of the motel’s scrawny bath towels. She looked furtively towards the curtained windows that overlooked the pool. Other than their own, none of the cottages showed signs of habitation, so she slowly released the tuck of the towel and draped it over the fence.

She had lost weight. He could see it in the sharp nip of her waist and the loose fit of her panties. Still, she was pale and lovely as the moon, and he was struck anew by the juxtaposition of tenderness and lust she brought out in him. Thinking a tented swimsuit might betray his intentions, he jumped feet first into the deeper end of the pool, appreciating the coolness against his heated skin.

“How is it?” Cautious as ever, Scully was descending the steps slowly, and he grieved the slow disappearance of her body until he realized the underwater illumination acted like an aqueous spotlight, lighting her up from below.

“Come over here and find out,” he beckoned her towards the deeper water.

She dove fluidly beneath the surface, re-emerging two feet in front of him like a modern-day naiad, cedar-hued hanks of hair and eyes bluer than the sky that afternoon.

“Mmmm, this was a good idea, Mulder. Thank you.” She brushed against him, skin polished and warm, and dropped a chlorine kiss on his lips. He tried to pull her closer, but she pushed hard against the wall and floated away with a laugh.

They paddled languorously as the curious moon rose above the pines. The floodlight had long subsided into darkness. Scully drifted easily on her back, nipples and pubic hair umbra signals to his baser self through the opaque cotton covering. His cock twitched in the loose confines of his trunks, despite the coolish water. He could feel the tug of something primeval, dark and instinctual, coming from the endless wilderness to the north. This is your mate, it said.

As she drifted within reach, he pulled her easily into his embrace, kissing the damp from her eyelashes and cheeks. She settled her arms over his shoulders, light as a feather in the water’s buoyancy.

“I love kissing you, Scully,” he murmured between pecks. She chuckled at his juvenile admission.

“Yes, I got that impression. I love kissing you too, Mulder.” She licked his chin, to emphasize her point. He growled and initiated a hungrier kiss, holding her against him in the the ebb and flow of a subtle current, where she could certainly feel the physical proof that he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Is this okay?” he asked as he made his way down her arched neck, one hand now gripping her ass beneath the clinging fabric of her panties.

“Mmm, very okay. I missed this. Even when everything else feels wrong, you’re the only thing that still makes sense, Mulder.” She gasped out his name as he nipped her earlobe.

“That’s how I know you’re my one in five billion. You’re the only person who’d ever assert that I make sense,” he teased.

“What I don’t understand is why I make sense to you. Especially now…”

“Oh, Scully. Are you serious? You mean besides the fact that you’re the most stunning woman alive, and you put up with all of my shit? How about this - you’re the only person who already is what I want my future to be.”

She leaned back and observed him, limpid and wet, as though measuring the truth of his statement. Then, holding his head very still between her ragged fingernails, she kissed him deeper than all the oceans combined. 

By the time they broke for air, they were mindlessly thrusting together, the surrounding water adding an erotic slickness to their movement.

“God, I want you. Is it too soon?” he gasped.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s okay. Let’s go back to the room.” She was panting like a frightened animal and pawing at the waist of his shorts.

“Mmm, no. Here. God, Scully.” This as her hands finally worked the knot at his waistband loose and dove inside to grab his cock.

“Mul-derrrrrr, we can’t. Bacteria, lubrication. C’mon.” She nodded towards the stairs, trying to encourage him into shallower water.

“I know what I’m doing. You trust me, don’t you Scully?”

Without waiting for her response, he lifted her even higher in the water, so her crotch rubbed his navel. He shunted his shorts downwards until they dropped to his ankles and he flicked them away. Tucking her knees beneath his armpits, he lifted the gusset of her panties out of the way, then slid his aching cock into the tight hot space between cotton and skin.

“Like this. See? Like this. Outside. Oh shit Scully.” He was frantic already, the head of his cock sliding up the seam of her body, over her clit and then against the elastic membrane of her underwear. It felt amazing.

“Jesus, Mulder. Where did you…? Nevermind. Just keep, yeah. Ohmygod yeah.” She had her elbows braced on the pool deck, her torso leaning away from him to create just the right angle for each exquisite slide. Her head fell limply backwards, chin tipping towards the night sky as she moaned so deeply he felt it inside his body.

“Fuck, Scully. So good, baby. So fucking good.”

He wasn’t going to last at this rate. He looked into the water to see the obscene bulge of the head of his cock advancing and retreating beneath the cotton’s opaque skin. Shit, that wasn’t helping. One hand dove down, pushing himself even deeper into her slit with each thrust, letting the ridge stroke over her hood until she let out a sharp yelp and began thrashing against him in ecstasy, stirring up a tiny tempest of waves between them.

“That’s it, Scully. Fucking come for me. Come on me.”

He grasped himself through the material, gave two quick tugs, and released what felt like a thousand lifetimes of fervour onto her skin. His agonized groan tapered off to a whispery chuckle.

“Fuck, I have the best ideas.”

***

Showered and tucked into bed, pink and boneless, he thought Scully was already asleep when she asked, “Do you really see your future in me, Mulder? Even now?”

He tightened his hold around her shoulders, tucking the damp crown of her head beneath his chin.

“They say the only thing that can make sense of the past is the future, Scully. The truth can't get any trued than that.”


End file.
